


A Tale of Two Sweaters

by Candidus_Lupus_Full_Moon



Category: Girl Genius (Webcomic)
Genre: Body Image, Inspired By Tumblr, Multi, My First Fanfic, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7407790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Candidus_Lupus_Full_Moon/pseuds/Candidus_Lupus_Full_Moon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tarvek has a choice to make that shouldn't bother him at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Tale of Two Sweaters

**Author's Note:**

> I want to give a hearty thanks to greyskiesallclear for being awesome and betaing my first work.

Tarvek stared at the two offending objects as if they were about to explode. They weren’t, of course; not if his Smoke Knights were doing their jobs. The fact that the articles of clothing on his bed lacked explosive qualities didn’t solve his problem any.

Tarvek was a spark of the highest caliber who had been picking out his own clothes since he broke through. Choosing between two similar options was not above his power. This wasn’t life-or-death serious. It didn’t, nay shouldn’t, merit the kind of deep thought he was working himself into. His choice of outerwear didn’t – usually – have any political ramifications. Though his lovers could surprise him at any time, he wasn’t going anywhere (or so he thought). Yet here he was, a dutiful lover, a fully grown spark, a soon-to-be king, dithering about which of his lovers’ sweaters he should wear.

He let out an audible sigh. Ever since he had been freed from the time bubble he had worked with Gil and Agatha to get everything straight again. Except them, of course. The choices that had been so simple when he was a child had become ever so more complicated. He groaned. “Why can’t I just pick one and move on? Damn it!”

“I don’t understand the problem here,” said a snarky voice from above him. “The Mistress and the other one will no doubt like you whichever one you choose.”

Tarvek swore. “Sweet lightning don’t do that. You almost scared me to death.”

“Now, now,” the Castle said condescendingly. “I can’t kill the Mistress’s paramours before they have given her heirs now can I?”

“No, I guess you can’t,” he grumbled sullenly.

“Good to see you haven’t lost all your wilfulness. The others have been worried about you, especially the members of your ménage à trois.” Something like concern colored the Castle’s words. Tarvek startled and started to turn so that he could face his companion before stopping himself mid-turn. He settled for looking upwards instead.

“Why are you being so nice today?”

”I wanted to help you make a decision so that you don’t keep your lovers waiting. Hearing them worry is grating.”

Tarvek took a long look at the clothing on the bed and began worrying again. The Castle, oblivious to this development, continued its monologue.

“…all it is right now is Tarvek is and Tarvek that.”

With every passing comment the hole Tarvek had been digging himself got deeper and deeper. The Castle continued regardless of his mood.

“My God the concern is so cloying. _Is he eating enough_ , they ask themselves. _Is he getting out enough? Is he feeling okay_?”

Deeper he thought as he sank to the floor.

“ _Why isn’t he doing this or doing that, blah, blah_ , it’s all too much.”

Deeper still. Was it getting harder to breathe?

“I love strife in the bedroom but this is a bit much, don’t you think?”

Surely it was fit for his grave now? He could feel the tears starting.

“You’re not helping anything by not telling them something.”

That snapped him out of it, freeing the emotions building, sending them bubbling up to the surface as if he was a concoction heating on a Bunsen burner. Bubbles held back by only a little surface tension. As soon as he spoke that tension broke.

“ENOUGH,” he shouted, madness lacing his words. Tarvek had never taken well to being insulted. “I KNOW. I GET IT. JUST- stop.” The word ended with a sob. “I… I… know I haven’t been hungry or eating enough. I get… that the poison made me weak. I understand that I am not what I once was.” He continued to cry as he spoke. “They have so much more to worry about than looking after a broken prince. They deserve better than that,” he finished softly.

At least the floor of Castle Heterodyne was comfortable. If he was going to finally cry himself senseless this was the place to do it. He could have done with a bit more privacy but he would have to settle.

It had been almost a year since the whole deal with the poison and the time bubble shenanigans, and yet he still couldn’t get back to being quite himself. He had lost a substantial amount of wright not only from the poison and the effects of the time bubble, but the stress as well. None of his clothes fit. Hell, he could wear both Gil and Agatha’s clothes if he wanted to, no problem. (The two of them were lean from all the strife and reckless adventure.) It wasn’t just that none of his old clothes fit. The poison had left his body weak in a multitude of ways. Gil had promised Tavrek he had done all that could be done but it didn’t feel like enough. Having the others around helped.

The Castle remained quiet as the young prince cried, leaving Tarvek’s room in an unnatural stillness. It let the prince sob softly to himself for a little longer before speaking again. It had to move things along; the Mistress and Gil were clucking.

“They are hideous. Why do you want to wear them?”

“Don’t call them that,” Tarvek snarled, the weird mix of madness combined with his crying coating the words.

“But they are and you know I’m right. You never would have worn them by choice any other day of the week,” it said evenly, trying not to upset the prince.

“I… just…” he started.

The Castle was right, of course. The sweaters were made out of some new material invented by some enterprising young spark. It was durable and warm with a bit of give to it. It was utilitarian in nature and had the added benefit that with special ink and an intriguing process one could print things on the garment. Both were meant to be pulled over the head and had an attached hood. Gil and Agatha loves these new garments immensely; both of them would much rather be in comfort than high fashion. Tarvek didn’t see the appeal. Pulling one over your head would result in mussed-up hair and makeup all over the inside. Why wear them if this was this was the case? Yet here they lay, well-worn and loved by the people they belonged to, as he contemplated putting one on.

Agatha’s was a dark brown colour, its sleeves long and its cuffs marked with little holes. The front had the trilobite done in gold ink and one the back was some quote about the Heterodyne Boys. There were other designs, and Agatha allowed them to be sold so long as she could get part of the profits to help send children to school. Agatha liked brown because it hid the grease well, unlike Gil’s.

Gil’s was similar with some differences. His was a light blue color with silver ink for the picture and the lettering. That spark and their friends had chosen the color because of the Wulfenbach airships streaking across the sky, or so Gil claimed. Tarvek thought privately that Gil picked them himself. The front held an image of a winged castle and under that was the Baron’s famed quote, “Don’t make me come over there!” On the back was Gil’s full name with titles, written in Skif. Tarvek winced when he looked at it; that must have been a challenge for the printer.

The blue of the sweater was darker in places with splashes of grease (much like Agatha’s) but this one had more holes that had been patched by some weary tailor. Gil refused to requisition a new one and would wear this one until it fell apart at the seams. He, much like Agatha, had worked out a deal for the use of his family’s name to support people in need. The poor spark had been so star-struck that there had been little argument in the end.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting, you know.” The Castle spoke dryly, startling Tavrek again.

Why? It was a simple question, much like his choice of garment. Neither Gil nor Agatha knew their sweaters were missing (he had stolen them out of their personal labs where they had been left on the backs of chairs). If the question was so simple the answer should be too, right?

Cold, he had been cold and wanted something that wasn’t a blanket. He had tried putting more of his own clothes on but it hadn’t been working and for some reason he had thought Agatha and Gil’s sweaters would do the trick. They had been away and he had woken up forgetting they would return by morning. He had gone to their labs and stolen their garments. His ill-gotten gain acquired, he had trekked back to his room. Exhausted from dodging traps, he had fallen asleep as soon as he returned. He found the sweaters balled up under his bedclothes come morning and decided to finish what he started. He was still cold, not just from lack of heat but from missing their warmth. He sighed.

“I missed them, that’s why.” He sighed softly. “The sweaters smelled like them, they acted as a comfort blanket. …Damn it.” He had said that last part out loud, hadn’t he? Stifling another groan he waited for the Castle’s lewd comments.

“Wear them both, one overtop the other.” It stated simply.

“What?” Tavrek said, sounding shocked.

“Wear them both.” The Castle repeated. “Hurry up and put them on before I let your lovers in.”

“What?” he shrieked. “Why would you need to let them in?” He wasn’t anywhere near ready to see them. He shoved the sweaters on over his head, Agatha’s first followed by Gil’s. He rushed to clean up his red face and fix his hair.

“Because crying and moping has made you an hour and a half late for breakfast, and I locked the door,” the Castle said distractedly. “Hurry up, I am trying to fend them off the best I can but as I told you, they have been very attentive lately. They have taken notice of your poor sleeping and overall health.”

“How? Gil has been on Castle Wulfenbach trying to quell the usual uprisings and Agatha went to help Zeetha track down a lead on Skifander.”

“They have their ways, as you well know. Now hurry it up,” it said testily.

“I don’t truly. I am much further out of the game than I am willing to admit.”

Time to face his doom as it were, with as much dignity as a prince like him could manage. He heard the lock on the door click and watched with a small amount of fear as a very bedraggled Gil and Agatha fell into the room. They were wearing their traveling clothes, which looked slept in. They must have just gotten in and rushed to meet him for breakfast. Their faces held both confusion and annoyance, causing Tavrek to feel guilty for putting it there. They shouldn’t have to worry about him so much. “What’s wrong with you two,” he said, trying for nonchalance. “Am I late for our date?”

Gil recovered first, pushing himself off the doorjamb and into Tarvek’s room. “You’ve been crying,” he said abruptly, pausing to look at the prince before him. “And wearing our clothes.”

“Yes.” Tarvek said simply.

“Agatha get over here, scolding the Castle isn’t that important.” Gil proceeded to call her over with a wave of his hand. “He’s wearing our clothes.”

Agatha abandoned her argument with Castle Heterodyne to look at Gil and Tarvek. As she walked closer, Tarvek could tell the moment she took in his red face, tired eyes, and then the clothes he was wearing.

“Are we wearing our pyjamas to breakfast?” she asked, seemingly amused. “It’s a good look for you.” She laughed as she said it, which brought a dopy smile to Gil’s face too.

Tarvek blinked and looked down at his legs. He was indeed wearing his pyjama bottoms as well as the sweaters. The world was slightly fuzzy as he surveyed himself and he couldn’t quite place why. He hadn’t noticed that before, had he? Gil tapped him on the shoulder to bring his attention back up to them and then with a steady hand he placed the glasses on Tarvek’s face. Tarvek could feel the blush rising on his face and did his best to resist the urge to pull the hood of the sweater up and bury himself in it. He must have failed somewhere because Gil laughed, filling up the room with the noise.

“Right,” Gil started, “because Agatha and I are clearly overdressed for a pyjama breakfast, let’s rectify that.” He gripped Tarvek’s hand as well as Agatha’s so he could drag them both towards his rooms. Tarvek assumed there would be a similar stop at Agatha’s so she could get changed too. The two of them took their time getting changed, taking time to pick pyjamas to match his. Gil settled on a baby blue pair of pantaloons from Agatha’s wardrobe and a gray shirt from his own. He looked ridiculous, but none of them cared. Agatha settled for black pants from Tarvek’s closet and a gold nightgown from her own.

“Time to eat, with some coffee maybe?” Agatha asked, directing her question at the two boys. She got an answer from the Castle instead.

“Breakfast is ready and waiting for you in the lounge. We are going casual after all; no need to use the formal dining room.”

Agatha glared up at the ceiling.

“Let’s go eat,” Gil answered her. “Then we can talk after we’ve had some coffee.”

“Agreed,” Tarvek said. “We can do anything after we’ve had enough coffee.”

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to chat me up about Girl Genius on my tumbler at latin-will-rule.


End file.
